Na'u 'Oe
by Sidalee
Summary: [You're mine; You belong to me] At the Governor's ball Steve is everything but amused. A McKono Smut Sunday one-shot.


**Disclaimer: **I own nothing you recognize…

**A/N:** Hey there my lovely readers! I know it's been a while, again but here I am with a brand new Smut Sunday fic. I've got an Anon ask on tumblr, to write a fic "in which Steve and Kono are at a get together or a party. Kono is completely casual and normal but Steve thinks that she is teasing and is super horny that he has to "take her" even though they could get caught." This not exactly covers it, but I hope you'll like it.

Well, this story started as the first scene of the 2x16 THTH chapter, you know, the one with the Governor's ball but it got out of hand so I decided to make it a separate story. Enjoy!

No beta was harmed in the making of this fic so all mistakes are mine.

Tell me what you think!

* * *

"Just…Just try to behave," Danny says. "And not kill anyone."

"Um…what?" Steve stares at him blankly.

Danny sighs and rubs his forehead. "You'll see. I mean it, Steve. Don't kill anyone. The paperwork is a bitch."

"Right," Steve tells his amusingly worked up partner. "Okay, Danno, I'll try not to kill anyone."

He already knows that the paperwork for kills, even those against enemies who are trying to kill everyone and their little dogs, too, is a bitch. Is there some rumor going around the he's trigger-happy? It wouldn't be the first time. Steve McGarrett is consistent about a few things and the fact that he'll kill anyone who threatens his people - and, resultingly, his country - is a well-known one.

But that's defense. He has no idea who he's supposed to be defending, or from what. It's just a charity ball or what the hell is it called with a bunch of politicians, delegation of industry experts, whatever that means, and consultants, maybe even a few CEO's from corporations the Governor want to start working with. It's _annoying_, sure. Danny and Kono have been bitching about it for three weeks, now. But it's just a fucking black-tie fundraiser. Not exactly dangerous, right?

Sixteen and a half minutes later he notices Kono talking to some random business man looking asshole and they way the man stands in her personal space, eyeing her like she's part of the auction, makes Steve's hand clamp at his thigh where his gun really, really should be and he's trying not to look as homicidal as he feels.

When Danny opens his mouth to warn him again Steve cuts him off with one look.

"Don't worry, Danno, I promised her a long time ago that I would make every effort not to kill over her." Steve forces out the words, knowing that he is everything but convincing.

.

.

"Oh, thanks," Kono says, taking the plate Steve proffers, immediately starting in on the chicken sticks.

She smiles at the asshole and Steve grits his teeth and thinks longingly of a fire fight. Maybe an actual fire…_something_. He's beyond being picky at this point.

Deciding that he'll take a page out of his wife's book, Steve pushes closer and curls his fingers around the ones holding up her plate. "Hey, _sweetheart_. Want some of those little bagel things?"

Graceful and charming it's not.

Kono gives him a distracted smile, saying, "Ooh, with lox? I love lox. Thank you, Steve. Anyway…"

"Of course, _baby_," he replies. It warms him to realize that she doesn't even _notice_ that he's calling her 'sweetheart' and 'baby', terms he only uses behind closed doors.

It's a fleeting feeling: her attention drifts off him without ever really sticking. Muttering, Steve makes his way back to the buffet table, skirting a group of women decked out in crimson, metal, and blatant shark teeth. They make him think of spears and blood-drenched tables, which he's seen a time or two, and how he's so damned glad he didn't go into business.

He doesn't smile at them. That's blood in the fucking water.

Plate refilled, Steve turns back to spot his wife and the incredibly _eager_ CEO of a private security company, who's been courting her with god knows what, are still standing. If the ladies he brought with him are sharks, _he's_ a hunter and his prey is the one charmingly smiling Kono Kalakaua. He's not letting them out of his sight for long.

What he sees makes him go cold, unable to move or even breathe.

Kono herself is gorgeous, of course. The dress is white and kinda sparkly, showing off every inch of her body, making her skin glow. Her hair is in an artfully messy bun, and even only seeing the back of her is enough to take Steve's breath away.

This incredibly beautiful woman is _his_.

Unfortunately, another man's hand is on her back. And _sliding down towards her ass._

Steve has just enough presence of mind to realize Kono is moving away, head tilted at an angle that rings warning bells for anyone who knows her, when Steve locks an arm around her waist and yanks her bodily against him.

"Excuse me," he says, polite, like his mother taught him, silk just barely covering the knife-edged hate within. "I need to speak to _my_ _wife_ for a minute."

"Of course," the CEO says, blinking between Kono and Steve and back again. "I hadn't realized, mister…"

"That's _Commander_," she snaps frostily and leads _Steve_ out of the room and into a surprisingly large supply closet.

Kono doesn't wait for the door to shut before she shouts, "You are _unbelievable_! Your _wife_? _Baby? Sweetheart?_ Don't think I missed that little display of chauvinistic bullshit. He was just offering me a job, he…"

"He had his hand on your ass!" Steve shouts right back.

"And I can take care of myself! You think this is the first time someone has tried to fuck me into working for them? Not hardly, _Commander_. I got offers all the time, back then while I was surfing, like sleeping with the charming bastards that get to be CEO's is going to make me feel all pretty and girly about myself, and do whatever it is they want. At least the guys got _hookers_ thrown at them!"

Steve's mouth falls open. "They…what?"

"Get hookers," she snaps back, chin thrust out into grim rage. "Which if you think about it is actually a sign of _respect_, because they're not expected to turn into mush-brained idiots who'll do anything for the pretty, charming _brat_ who thinks we're suddenly wrapped around his finger and…what?"

He's staring. He knows he's staring but he can't help it. "Someone really tried to do that?"

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, please, you know women are treated like pieces of meat. It's not especially different for the talented ones. They just expect that we're _grateful_."

Yes, actually, he does know that and intellectually he can understand why stupid idiots would try it. It's probably even successful, just like the hooker trick is with men. But it isn't what he meant.

"Kono." His voice catches and he's moving forward, backing her against the wall so he can curl his fingers around her shoulders, sliding them up to cup her cheeks. Suddenly a lot of things make painful sense. "Kono. Did someone try that?"

She doesn't struggle only because she's learned it doesn't get her what she wants. She's too Kono to slump but there's a curl of humiliation, incredibly young and still aching, in her voice as she says, "I figured it out before it went too far."

Like somehow that makes it _better_.

Rage swamps him, breathtaking and pure. All the questions Steve's carefully banked about past lovers are now irrelevant: this is the one that matters most. This is the _why_.

She takes a breath to say something, but Steve makes a low, negative noise. He doesn't need to hear the details. Maybe not ever. It's irrelevant now: he has that one, final corner to the puzzle of Kono Kalakaua, the hinge his questions rest on.

He almost wishes he didn't.

Understanding takes the rage away. Kono doesn't know that, though, once again opening her mouth like she needs to _explain_, expression wary like he might judge _her. _

No, he'd never.

Steve kisses her: urgent, hungry like he hasn't just stuffed himself while glowering at the CEO's and hiding from anyone female. Kisses her until she mewls against him, shoulders finally relaxing into his palms, body hot and molding against his as she sighs into the kiss and finally lets go.

"That's why you didn't believe me at first," he tells her temple, kissing her fast and messy down the side of her face. She tastes like powder, like the makeup she painstakingly applied while bitching the whole time, and metallic, like fear and stress and worry. "Some bastard…you always say I'm too smooth. That's why, isn't it? You thought I was like them. That I just wanted something from you."

Hot breath pants into his face as he takes her mouth again, deep and sweet until she pushes at his chest for more air. "Yeah. That's what I thought you wanted." Her voice is wrecked.

"I wanted _you_," Steve interrupts. He's not angry, not anymore, because Kono would just reflect it back until they're shouting their understanding at each other. He's learned better methods with her. "I _want_ you. I want my gorgeous, badasss wife, the one who threatens to cut my balls off as often as she sucks on them."

Fortunately, the walls at the hotel are _very_ good at muffling sound.

Kono gasps, jerking against him like she can't help it, fingers in electrical sockets.

"Bastard." Her eyes are sable in the dimness, remembered feelings melting away as Steve strokes her stomach and then lower. "You can't just say things like that to me!"

"I love you," he says instead. Years and years of never being able to say it, or anything remotely like it. Blame the broken family, his long dead mother or his recently passed father, it doesn't really matter.

Kono is different. For her the words have wings, taking off like there's no struggle against gravity, no fight to break against the pressure of what should be. These words _fly_.

It's a gift he'll never grow tired of, the greatest she'll ever give him: "I love _you_."

Kono stills, even with his hands tugging at her panties, skirt cool and silken against his forearms. Her stockings a torn mess somewhere down around her knees and he'll catch hell for that, later. She wears a solemn expression that doesn't suit. Her spectrum runs from pensive to profoundly hysterical and everything in between. Not serious, though. Not a little sad, no matter how a smile tugs at the dropping left edge of her lips.

"I know you do. Steve," she says, and it's a promise more profound than any _I do_. "I know."

He kisses her again, whispering, "Won't ever let you forget," before he's on his knees, his tux be damned, easing her thighs apart to start licking, hot long strips right over her the seam of her.

Kono moans, clutching at his shoulders. There're some breathy, confusing words about dresses, or propriety, or something equally ridiculous. Steve ignores them, not giving a damn. She's hot and sweet on his tongue, already damp as he licks her open before sucking on her clit, just the way she likes, his only-mostly smooth cheeks rubbing against her thighs. He keeps going, almost ruthless, until the words turn into moans and her hands slide into his hair, yanking him even closer.

It's hard to see through the heavy fall of her skirt, slipped over his head like some perverse sort of hood, with the fabric knit that tightly. Steve pulls back a little to see her biting her fist, knuckles white, skin flushed, choking sounds of pleasure wracking her even as Steve strokes her inner thighs, widening her just enough to slide two fingers inside, quirked, twisted, just where it'll do the most good. He fingers her as fast as the awkward angle permits, waiting for that low, sobbing moan and the flood of heat around his hand.

She's gorgeous when she comes. Steve keeps his eyes open the whole time.

"Fuck me," she slurs when Steve pulls free, licking lips and fingers and damn proud of himself. "Now, Steve, you have to…"

He's tempted to say no, they have to go back. But it hasn't been that long and anyway, Kono's got a death grip on his lapel and a familiar look in her eye. The only thing to stop her now is imminent death by invasion or incompetence, and sometimes not even then.

He says, "Yes, ma'am," serious and grateful because she loves him back. Loves him just like he loves her.

There's a table. Steve moves them while she makes a disapproving noise, already hiking up her dress so it lays over her back, leaning down with her legs spread.

"Kono," he breathes because _fuck_. The hottest porn has nothing on her.

"Do you really want to go back with a hard on?" she demands, looking over her shoulder with makeup-smeared cheeks. "Fuck me, now." And then, as he slides in, she gasps, "Hard, hard as you can."

Steve thinks about the expression on the CEO's face, reevaluating it with Kono's information. The wolfish cast wasn't just avaricious, gleeful hands rubbed together over a good catch. No, it'd been _eager_. Sexual, like the most polite version of a hidden leer.

Like sleeping with her into a contract, and maybe beyond, was something he'd take pleasure in.

Steve fucks her as hard as he can, hips screaming, table shuddering and screeching across the floor. He fucks until he can't see straight, furious at the thought of someone using her like that, touching what's his. He's coherent enough to make sure the angle's right, barely, but he does, familiar and sure. When everything's knotted inside and he can only barely hold on, he leans down over her straining back, soaking up warmth even as he puts his mouth to her ear and his fingers to her clit.

"Was there even a chance?" he asks.

He comes to her vicious "Don't be _stupid!"_

It's long, long moments later before either of them can more.

Rising onto shaky legs, Kono digs into her purse.

Steve just blinks owlishly. His brains are still happily below skin and Kono's skirt is still bunched up around her hips, stuck somehow, and her thighs are golden brown and smooth looking. He really wants to kiss them again.

"Up, Neanderthal animal." Kono interrupts his afterglow. "We have a party to get back to."

The stockings are sacrificed in favor of cleaning up.

"Forget about a cleaning crew, we need a decontamination team." Kono chuckles.

"Think the Governor would approve that?" Steve raises a brow and grins.

"Idiot," she rolls her eyes and Steve watches, fascinated, as Kono curses her way through makeup repair.

Then.

Then she slides out of her panties and tucks them into Steve's pocket.

Steve hears himself gulp, staring down at the hint of tan fabric peeking from his pocket. It looks innocuous enough. No one will notice, probably. Just a bunch of something shoved into his black pants.

"Kono?"

"I know, it's not really me, is it? Tell yourself you screwed me into being impish."

This is beyond impish, he wants to protest, this is _bizarre_ - and hot, of course, god it's hot – and completely uncharacteristic of her. Except she's smiling at him. His favorite smile, the one that shines with innocent excitement, eagerness to learn, to do new things, to…

She hits him in the shoulder, smile replaced by a more familiar glare.

"You know I recognize when you're mentally reciting _Star Trek_, Steve. The only one boldly going anywhere is us, back to the party, with a damned ear worm of the theme music. Thanks for that!"

She sounds furious as they step into the hallway. She isn't…well, she is annoyed about his propensity to compare her to the opening lines of a TV show, and the inevitable ear worm that always follows. But she isn't mad, twining her fingers into his like she can't stop touching him, smiling with almost giddy joy as they head back.

No one pays overt attention to their return. They aren't the first to slip off, after all, although he doubts any one else left for impromptu supply closet sex.

There's no use trying to pretend they escaped all notice. Steve doesn't flinch, barely, when the CEO from before stands next to him. A glass is raised and tilted at him ironically, while Steve smiles back: tight, no teeth, and Kono says it makes him look dementedly homicidal.

He's good with that.

He's going to be able to tell Danny that he didn't try to kill anyone. Not even once.

No one else needs to know that, though.

Especially when he looks for Kono, who disappeared the moment they were back inside. He finds her by a bevy of sharply dressed ladies, the ones with shark-smiles, speaking low and fast, hands arcing dangerous designs in the air. They're watching her just as intently, which is smart. Kono is just as possessive as he is, after all, and probably more dangerous.

"You'll have to forgive me," the CEO tells him while they watch. "I go with what works."

"No," Steve says with the faintest of smirks: the kind he's practiced all his life at to roaring success. "I really don't have to."

The CEO winces, but Steve ignores that. Kono is giving these funny little _hitches_ as she speaks, like she needs to shimmy out of the dress or it's affecting her differently than…

Steve slides a hand into his pocket, touching silk, and tries not to grin like the insufferable, fatuous, man he is.

"Ah. I don't suppose I could offer _you_ a job, could I, Commander?" the CEO offers, resignation belying the hopeful tilt of his head.

Danny and Chin swirl by, impeccably timed to make sure he isn't committing homicide through telepathy, given their slightly worried expressions. Steve rolls his eyes at them and snags two glasses of champagne. Asti, not brut – Kono hates brut.

"No," he says. "You can't."

Drinks in hand, he crosses over to offer one to Kono before sliding an arm tight around her waist, enjoying the way the dress moves over nothing at all, before pecking her on the cheek.

"Hey, _baby_. I missed you."


End file.
